


Unmasking, 10 Ways - Batman/Reader

by BridgeToTheSky



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Realities, Angst, Bruce loves and it doesn't go well, F/M, I Admit It, I have a soft spot for the Dark Knight, Love, Possible Character Death, Protection, Reader loves Bruce/Batman and it doesn't go well, Romance, Suicide Attempt, Surprise surprise are you shocked?, Tragedy, sue me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4650858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BridgeToTheSky/pseuds/BridgeToTheSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ten different universe, the ten different ways Batman was revealed to you as Bruce Wayne, and the ten different ways you handled it.</p><p>The good.</p><p>And the bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eyes.

His eyes.

The first time you realized who Batman was, was when he made his mistake — held you close enough to see his eyes.

And they could only be his, you realized, because you had looked into them thousands of times, whether because of anger or bliss, sadness or love, or just by … by _being_ with him. You knew his eyes like no other; you knew nothing like you knew his eyes.

Clear, intense, stunning.

_Bruce’s._

“Bruce,” You whispered, and Batman — _Bruce’s_ — eyes expanded in their surprise, revealing to you the absolute truth.

He was holding you because you had fallen, and were about to die.

And now? Now you were determined to live.

To find out why.

And he was going to tell you, even if you had to beat it out of him.

(Why a fucking _bat,_ anyway?)


	2. A Dream Within A Dream

This is stupid.

 

It’s foolish and dangerous, and if he were functional right now, he’d be telling you to escape, to run, to get to somewhere safe.

 

Fire climbed up around you, eating away at grass and streets, sits atop cars and biting away at leaves of trees nearby. You can hear the firetruck sirens, faint but growing clearer with each moment you stand here.

 

If not now, when?

 

If not now, never.

 

Batman. The Caped Crusader. The Dark Knight. His body is lying against the cold, dirty street. Seemingly unconscious.

 

If he had gotten up, you would have scattered with images of what-ifs. But … he was still out. His fight had taken some sort of temporary tole on his strength.

 

This was your chance.

 

You crept up. Apprehensive and scared — so very scared; what was this world around you? Flaming and dying? — as you reached a hand out.

 

What if he thought you were attacking him? What then? Oh, your hand would surely be broken for trying to divulge and discover him.

 

Still, with all the odds stacked against you, your hand did not stop creeping, your curiosity did not wane.

 

A hand against his firm cheek. The holes in the mask that indicated his eyes were dark, like miniature caves themselves in the way they are curved into his mask. You began to slip the mask away from his face, and you are surprised that what you feel is skin. Aftershave, a face, and natural oils that accompany that face and — and _humanity_. You weren’t above the rumors that insinuated that the bat wasn’t even of the human race, but … something else. What proof did you have of the contrary?

 

Your heart was inconsolable in its rapid beats — tonight, you would know.

 

His lips parted as you removed the mask at last, revealing …

 

It’s like you have been placed in an episode of Twilight Zone as, beneath the mask, Bruce Wayne lied, eyes closed and face peaceful, like so many times he had lied beside you and you had swept your eyes over the tranquility of his face. Surreal, like a dream.

 

A dream within a dream within a dream.

 

A groan, and you panic. Fastening the mask back on as gently as you could without rousing him.

 

How were you supposed to leave him? How were you supposed to leave him the flames?

 

 _He’s Batman,_ you thought, a little bitterly. _He can take care of himself._

 

But in your anger, in your confusion and chaotic myriad of emotions that don’t show across your face, you don’t leave. Batman’s — _Bruce’s_ — groans become more frequent, and you watch across from him as, at last, he began to stir.

 

At the third stir, he shot himself up into a stance, ready for enemies. He sensed you, and turned to see.

 

The light from the fires caught his eye, and you see them widen with shock. Irises cast in bright, icy blue land on you and you don’t move, waiting for him.

 

“You …”

 

“Bruce,” You whispered it like a prayer, enough for him alone to and no one else who could still be in the vicinity to catch.

 

Silence. His eyes swept over you as though you were a walking impossibility. For the first time you consider what this must be like through his perspective — like a fever dream, seeing his lover encased in flames with him, silent and angry.

 

He pulled you to him at last, and you meet his chest with a hand — how did you not catch the taut muscle? How did you miss all the signs? — and see a car swerve in the flames and halt with a earsplitting screech, sending a gently gust breezing the two of you.

 

His car.

 

 _The_ car.

 

He told you to get in, and you do, having no other choice.

 

You pretend the stinging in your ears was due to gust of wind.

 

V

 

Now, his face was anything but peaceful; his eyes shone with the falling light of the morning sun. He was a statue, unmoving, waiting.

 

“What happens now?” he asked, hand to his chin.

 

You met his gaze. You didn’t believe the dining room had ever been so quiet — like the room itself, too, was holding its breath, waiting for your reply that would decide everything.

 

Were you going or were you staying?

 

How were you supposed to answer? How were you meant to digest this?

 

Bruce Wayne was gone, all that sat across from you was Batman, with his intense face, almost a glare, that threatened to slice through you any moment now.

 

“You lied,” You said. “You’ve been lying to me for … for …”

 

“Too big a lie?” asked Bruce, tilting an eyebrow upward.

 

Huh, good question.

 

In the real world, in the world you used to live in, this would be the most leviathan-sized lie of them all. The epitome of lies. A double-life, an alter-ego, a whole other person.

 

But … was it too big for you?

 

You weren’t unaware; Bruce was asking for you, for the world between the two of you was all that mattered at the moment. Nothing else existed.

 

Would you tear that world down?

 

You took a breath, and answered in the only way you knew how. “I won’t tell anyone. I give you my word. But I … I need time.”

 

Bruce looked down, but did not seem disappointed. “I understand.”

 

It was a relief to be away from the impossible magnitude of his gaze, and you took another breath for good measure. You rose from the table, the scraping of your chair reverberating across the vastness of the room, and took your leave.

 

“I shall get you a cab, Miss (L/n),” said Alfred, who was stationed on the other side of the door and nearly scared you out of your skin.

 

“Thank you, Alfred,” You said weakly.

 

You watched the Wayne Manor grow smaller as the cab drove you away, and closer to the world of the sane so it may come and reclaim you.

 

But did you want to reclaim it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has to be one of the hardest characters; I feel like I'm constantly tight-roping between getting him just right and making one small move and ruining everything! This chapter gave me so much hell but I'm very satisfied with how it turned out. I hope you all are, too!


	3. Bribery

You felt yourself sway with the sudden breeze of the night, the cold from it ignited the goosebumps on your arms. And as the heel of your boots came to the very end of building's top, vertigo possessed you and forced you to fight to stay balanced. 

 

"No!" he said as you inched yourself closer to the edge. 

 

Terror and amusement, two emotions that battled to be the prominent expression on your face. "I'll do it, Batman. I  _ swear _ , I will. I'll have  _ no _ regrets."

 

You rose your arms on each side of you, ready. What would it be like, feeling your back collide with the concrete of the sidewalk hundreds of feet below, your spin shatter and your skull implode on itself? 

 

You didn't know what it would be like, but you know what would afterward; you would become just another suicidal, another life gone, another faceless citizen succumb to their own demons. A no one. Another sad face amidst thousands of others in this hellish city.

 

You didn't care.

 

"I won't let you do this," said Batman, and there was no edge to his voice, nor his body, encased in the dark, metallic suit. He wasn't nervous, not in the least.

 

It made you ... _angry_. 

 

He didn't believe you. 

 

"If you show me your face," You said, teasing the danger by bouncing on your heels, "I'll come down." 

 

"I could catch you before you did." 

 

You narrowed your eyes. "It's my life. I can do what I want with it, _Superhero_."

 

Silence fell. Another breeze brushed against you, this time chilling the sweat that had formed against your neck. 

 

"Fine." 

 

Your eyes widened, just a little. 

 

Really? Had you won? 

 

Batman rose his hand to the place where his jaw and neck connected, working his fingers underneath the mask -

 

You were so impressed — too impressed, obviously, as you reeled back far. Too far — your heel slipped and gravity caved from around you as you fell backward. 

 

And then, and then —

 

You **_screamed_**. 

 

It built up in your throat and was released as the wind whipped against your back, pushing your hair upward. You thrashed, and suddenly ... suddenly every problem you ever had seemed so solvable, and so trivial. So _easy_. 

 

All this metaphysical, astral thing called life that surrounded you, lived in you, caressed you and pumped into you seemed akin to gold; precious and irreplaceable, and you ... you ... 

 

You wanted to live. 

 

Your scream ripped through the night air, muffling the sound of a hook and the thrashing sound of a cloak, the strands of your hair obscuring the view of Batman as he dived toward you. 

 

His arm snaked around you waist, your head resting against his upper shoulder, and with a jerk that was stifled by his tight hold, your falling was ceased. 

 

You were suspended there, in midair, in the Caped Crusader's arms. He held you there for a second, and you came to comprehend the ... intimacy of the embrace. So close, warm, almost _knowing_. As though he knew the exact chemistry of your body compared to his and if it made him at all uncomfortable, he showed no signs of it. But, then again, his head was beside yours, and you could not see his expression. 

 

... Until he raised his head, and something scratchy brushed against your chin. That you realized, far too late and all at once, was stubble, and that you were looking at ... 

 

Bruce Wayne, with the most solemn of looks that you had ever seen him wear. With all the smartass smirks, and lascivious sneers you were used to seeing painted across his face when he was being interviewed or flashed across your television screen, you were not entirely sure you thought him capable of such a playful-less face. 

 

"Bruce ... _Wayne?_ " It felt robotic and surreal in your mouth, his name did. 

 

But he didn't answer you; with a jerk, the two of you were slowly coming back up to the zenith of the building. The endless row of glass windows sliding by and past the two of you in your ascend. Whatever he had dislodged in his pursuit of your fall was being used to scroll the duo of you back up. 

 

But this all mattered very little. You looked down, shifting ever-so gently in his grasp (though you weren't entirely sure if there was any place safer in the world than where you were right then, and the idea of him losing his hold on you felt a tad ridiculous now), and saw the cruel sidewalk, where, you would have collapsed with an unforgiving crunch, your blood splattering, your limbs twitching as your life was snuffed out faster than your physical body could accommodate. 

 

And suddenly, it didn't seem so romantic, so pointless. You brought your hand up to his — _Bruce, oh my **god**_ — throat, and felt the rhythmic beat of his heart against his heated pulse. 

 

"Do you still want this?" he asked quietly, nearing a whisper. 

 

You felt like he knew the answer, by the startled expression you wore, but you indulged him anyway with, "No. No ... I ... I don't -- I didn't think --" 

 

"They never do," said Bruce-Batman, even quieter that, if he were not nuzzled against your neck, you were sure you wouldn't have heard at all. 

 

They. There was a They. A plural. 

 

How many ... how many had there been before you? 

 

He pulled you over the building's edge, and you scrambled for safety, returning to your feet. 

 

“If anything,” he said, pulling himself over with one hand, then coming to stand level with you, “I’m glad I was able to catch you. It doesn’t look like you intentionally meant to fall.” 

 

“I didn’t,” You said, and you could have cringed at how pathetic it sounded. 

 

Silence. You stood there, feeling the slight tickle of his cape as it whipped in the air. Batman’s suit. Bruce Wayne’s face. 

 

… What was going to happen to you now? 

 

Surprisingly, it was Batman who broke the silence. “Once upon a time, I would have threatened you to stay quiet, but now I don’t really believe anyone would believe you if you _did_ tell.” 

 

“I wouldn’t tell,” You said, looking into his eyes.

 

He searched you, his gaze awfully intense. Then he said, “That’s good to know. What will you do now?” 

 

“You care?” 

 

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t ask.” 

 

A cloud came to obscure a part of your face. Then you thought: how about a little humor? “Oh, I don’t know,” You said playfully. “Maybe I’ll … grab a cape of my own and start fighting evil wherever it lay?”

 

You could’ve sworn you had seen a small grace of a smile. You heard the sound of disturbed leather, and looked down to his hand. In his hand that hadn’t held you, was his mask. He raised his hand and placed it back over his face, returning to his alter-ego entirely with the presence of it. 

 

“It’s not as fun as it looks,” he said, placing a foot on the building’s edge; this was the end of your encounter, you knew. “Nights like this one … make it an all right practice. I suggest something else.” 

 

You didn’t want him to go. You didn’t want this strange night to end. You didn’t want your eyes to open, to realize it was all a trick of sleep. You stepped forward. “Such as?” 

 

He turned his head to the city of Gotham. “Journalism, perhaps. Goodnight, (Y/n).” 

 

Then he pulled his cape to him, pushed himself off the edge, and was gone, his cape forming around him like majestic bat wings. 

 

You watched him leave until you couldn’t anymore, until you blinked and he was truly gone, had ducked into another corner, or maybe taken to the streets? Who knew. 

 

You made it to the bottom of the building alone, and when you fastened yourself into your seat belt, your fingers itched, your head swirling with a newfound desire. 

 

You had to follow the Bat. You had to know more. Because one question, in the midst of thousands, rose up among its competitors.

 

_ How had he known your name? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! I'm pretty proud of this one, and when I thought I had no more ideas to play around with! 
> 
> Once again, terribly self-conscious about my Batman/Bruce characterization. If you don't know, Superman was faced with two suicidal girls he saved (that I know of) and one of those portrayals was done by Michael Straczynski, and if you haven't seen THAT particular one, I suggest you do it Right. Now. Because it's ... it's one of the most touching things ever. And if you're experiencing depression or any kind of hopelessness, it's worth your while.
> 
> I wasn't entirely sure how Batman would tackle it; I think this is more his speed. 
> 
> This was a lot of fun, hope you guys enjoyed it!


End file.
